Nov 21 2011
Tag Archive 'Portugal'
Sometimes, just sometimes, it is okay for a man to cry. IΓò¼├┤Γö£├ºΓö£├╗ll never forget how hard it was to hold back the tears upon hearing that my first born Dachshund, Grimelda von Zimmerschatz, had given birth to a litter of six. Or the teary feeling of pride on that crisp Namibian morning when I felled my first kudu cow with one shot to the head.
Jul 11 2011
The Portuguese waiter looked at us, nervously. Γò¼├┤Γö£├ºΓö¼├║Sorry but we have run out of sardines,Γò¼├┤Γö£├ºΓö¼├æ he said in an accent that confirmed his three-year stint working in North London. We sat back and looked at the table. It was strewn with plates, chunks of bread and half-drunk wine glasses. Piles of sardine bones, stripped of their oily cream-coloured flesh, shimmered in the early afternoon sunlight streaming through the window.
We wanted more.